Promise
by MaroonNightfury31
Summary: "We ain't gonna make it are we?" His voice, once strong and thick with a southern drawl, was broken and small. Nick had every intention to tell him "Yup. We're gonna die.", but hearing the anguish in the man's voice was enough to make him re-think.No yaoi


**Short one-shot, sad one-shot, but I'm rather happy with it :D**

* * *

**Promise**

His head was hurting.

That much could be said.

The pounding and grinding behind his eyes were enough to keep him awake, even though he had never been so exhausted. The tight burning of the pulled bicep in his right arm really didn't agree with his choice of sleeping on the floor, but he found it only right for Rochelle to get the couch until it was her watch.

The safe-room was no more than a small shack, but housed all the necessities for a safe night. Even if the growing number of zombies outside knew they were there. It wasn't even Nick's watch, it was Ellis', but the conman found it impossible to shut his eyes for even a few minutes.

Ellis was curled up against the wall a few feet away, awake but distant. He always got that way at night, as if realizing only then that what had happened during the day was real. The Southerner was a lot different than the Northerner, but Nick knew Ellis was perfectly aware that this was it.

They were done.

Finished.

They couldn't run around for only so long before they ran out of bullets. Before the bandages were no longer present in a desperate time of need. Before CEDA decided that rescuing people wasn't ever going to work, and turned to sweeping the entire nation of anything that moved.

But it was no longer 'before', it was 'after'. CEDA had quit on them before they reached the end of the bridge. They had been so close. But they hadn't been fast enough, and the pilot didn't care. They left four people on a dead end, and they lost their Head. Their Leader. Coach has been at the wrong end of the Tank, and there wasn't much they could do but sit with the man until he bled out.

Because they ran out of bullets.

Because they ran out of bandages.

Rochelle had cried. Ellis had cried. Nick could do nothing but sit and watch as the man he had come to look up to slowly faded.

"Ya take ca'e of 'em. Ya hear Nicolas?"

"Sure do Big Guy."

He had taken it to heart. At first he had despised the man, and Coach did the same. But over the weeks of fighting alongside one another, a mutual respect and love had worked it's way in, and seeing the man die was like watching his father pass away all over again.

He had picked up Rochelle. Lifted Ellis to his feet, and said they needed to keep going. With a final look at the pure Georgian man, Nick walked away, wrapping his arm around Rochelle's to keep her from going back. He had come to care too much, and seeing pain on either face was something that made his heart ache. A heart that had been stiffened from years of gambling and fights. Years of arrests and parole. He was different now. Now that he cared, and he hated himself for it.

Now he sat on the thinly carpeted floor, watching as Infected walked by the window and failed to see inside. Ellis looked at Nick suddenly, his eyes red from hours of crying.

"Is this over, Nick?"

"What?" He knew just what the Hick meant, but he really didn't want to be hasty in his answer.

"We ain't gonna make it are we?" His voice, once strong and thick with a southern drawl, was broken and small. Nick had every intention to tell him "Yup. We're gonna die.", but hearing the anguish in the man's voice was enough to make him re-think.

"I don't know. I hope we do."

Ellis narrowed his eyes, clearly not believing him. "Ya don' think we will. I can tell."

Nick rolled his head to stare at the hillbilly, seeing it would be worst to lie. "Fine. We're going to die. Every one of us is going to die. But not tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He had now sat up, looking at Rochelle, who was to distraught to really comprehend anything.

"We're not dying tomorrow, because Coach would have wanted us to go farther. I'm not dying until I get _out_ of new Orleans."

Ellis chuckled, scooting over to rest against the man's side. He sniffled, resting his head on the Gambler's chest. Nick moved his arm around him, pulling him close. He felt the hot tears gather at his eyes, and he silently cursed himself for being so weak. Ellis wrapped his arms around Nick's torso, sniffling again. Rochelle had slid down to his other side and was resting against his shoulder.

The sudden warmth and safety dulled the head-ache, and the first few tears fell down his cheek as he remembered his promise.

He'd keep them safe, just like Coach had done so many times. Because he had allowed himself to care, and that's all that mattered right now.


End file.
